


Two Columns

by tuesdaymidnight



Series: Clint and Bucky Screw Their Way Through The Gay Kama Sutra [2]
Category: Marvel (Comics), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Airplane Sex, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Broken Bucky Barnes, Broken Clint Barton, Clint Needs a Hug, Kama Sutra, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Sex Positions, winterhawk - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-02-18
Updated: 2015-02-18
Packaged: 2018-03-13 13:43:12
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3383765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tuesdaymidnight/pseuds/tuesdaymidnight
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They've been on a mission for almost a month, and Clint is antsy. When they have to turn the plane around—again—he snaps and drags Bucky into the lavatory for a quickie. He might not get to pass out on his couch and sleep for a week, but at least they can check another sex position off the list.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Two Columns

**Author's Note:**

> What. There are a lot of sex positions in that book. 
> 
> Once again, this takes place somewhere in that vague future space where Bucky has been recovered and is sort of an Avenger but not really. And I'm still borrowing from Matt Fraction's version of Hawkeye.
> 
> And thank you to [OnTheTurningAway](http://archiveofourown.org/users/ontheturningaway) for being the best beta ever.

It had been a rough week.

Okay, it had been a rough month.

There had been a lot of death. A lot of bad memories dredged up.

Clint was drained and he needed to take the edge off. All he wanted was to go back home to his shitty apartment, split a pizza with Lucky, and sleep for a week…or get fucked. Actually, he would settle for getting fucked. He looked at the flight path to see if there was any way he could shorten the route back to New York.

Then Steve’s comm beeped.

“Don’t answer that,” Clint said.

“I have to,” Captain Fucking America said.

“You really don’t...” Clint trailed off.

He didn’t pay attention to what Steve was saying over the comm. He knew it was Fury on the other end. He knew something terrible had happened back in the Pontic mountains—where they had _just_ left.

Steve came bounding back into the cockpit a minute later, and Clint’s stomach dropped.

“We gotta turn back. Tony uncovered their weapons cache, and there are a lot of potential live wires. He needs us to run interference while he makes sure they’re all disarmed.”

“Nope,” Clint said.

“Clint, it’s near Trabzon. If any of those explosives go off, a lot of people could die.”

Clint gripped the controls so hard his knuckles went white for a good 10 seconds. He thought about the odds of someone stopping Tony—you get the guy out of the suit and he was vulnerable. Then he thought about how Bruce had volunteered to check out a potential stronghold in Siberia _by himself_. He put in the new coordinates with a sigh and a shake of his head.

“This is not happening. I am not getting screwed out of my pizza and my sleep and my—” He cut himself off and turned to Bucky. At least one of the things on his list of immediate needs could be achieved. “Barnes, I need a hand with something at the back of the plane.”

“Uh, aren’t you flying the plane?” Bucky asked, leaning against the door frame to the cockpit like he owned the damn plane.

“It’s on autopilot. Steve, you can fly, right?”

“I could in 1944. A lot’s changed in the technology.”

“It’s easier now with autopilot. Just yell if something goes wrong. Better yet, ask Nat.”

“Hey!” Nat said from where she had been comfortably napping.

“You’re in the co-pilot’s seat. Pretend you’re a pilot. I don’t care.”

“What—“

“I don’t care! Barnes—in the back.” Clint’s voice resembled a growl.

Bucky looked at him with wide, curious eyes but silently followed him to the back of the plane. It was nicer than the usual cargo plane they took on missions. It had once been used as a private jet, but it had been repurposed to haul weapons, uniforms, computers, all their gear. There were a few seats left near the front, and, better, a larger than normal bathroom in the back.

That was Clint’s destination.

“What did you need—” Bucky started to ask.

Clint cut him off with a rough kiss, pushing him backward into the lavatory.

“Clint, we—” Bucky pulled back.

“No. No. I haven’t been home in a month. I haven’t eaten pizza. I haven’t gotten laid. You are fucking me and you are fucking me now.”

“But—”

“I don’t care if Steve finds out. Nat already knows. I don’t care if the goddamn plane goes down so long as you get your dick in my ass now.”

Clint’s chest was heaving. He didn’t care how desperate he sounded. He  _was_ desperate. Bucky looked at him for two seconds and then crowded him up against the wall in tacit acquiescence, shoving his tongue into Clint’s mouth, nearly clacking their teeth together. He pressed even closer into Clint’s space, pinning Clint’s wrist to the wall with his metal hand as if to keep him in place.

Clint could feel Bucky’s dick rubbing against his thigh as he moved his lips to Clint’s neck, sucking a mark that Tony would totally mock him for once they retrieved his sorry ass from the mountains of Turkey.

“Knew you were dying for it, too,” Clint said smugly.

“Fuck, it’s been too fucking long,” Bucky said roughly against Clint’s neck. “All these stupid fucking missions. It’s like Fury’s _trying_ to give us blue balls.”

Clint went for Bucky’s belt. He undid the buckle, but he couldn’t get the belt loose enough to get what he wanted.

“Aw, how many knives do you have on you at all times?”

Bucky huffed. “I don’t have that many—one in each boot, two on my belt, sometimes a few up my sleeves, depending.”

Clint shook his head. “Well it makes it hard to get you out of your clothes when I run the risk of getting stabbed.”

“And yet you let me jerk you off with my left hand. Do you have any idea how many pounds of pressure my grip strength is?”

“Just get your dick out and fuck me.”

Apparently, Bucky didn’t feel the need to sass back to that particular instruction, because he finished undoing his own belt, minding his knife holsters, and pushed his pants down. Clint did the same, turning around in the small space and shoving his ass back in Bucky’s direction.

“Like this?” Bucky asked.

“Yeah,” Clint said impatience getting stronger.

“Since you got this all planned out, wiseass, you got lube?”

Clint hadn’t thought of lube. He so rarely went on missions where he had a chance to use it, there was never a point. But now that they had started using Bucky more on missions, it would make sense to at least invest in a travel bottle. Of course, that didn’t help him in the moment.

“There’s probably some lotion or liquid soap or some shit in here. I don’t care.”

He heard Bucky spit into his hand.

“Resourceful,” Clint said.

“You can search for lotion if you want.”

Clint shrugged. “Saliva is nature’s lube.”

He couldn’t protest when he felt a wet finger sliding between his ass cheeks. He shuffled his feet outward a little, though with his pants around his knees, he didn’t have much room. But he wanted it that way. He wanted Bucky to have to hold him open to push inside him. He wanted him in close, to feel Bucky touching him in as many places as possible—all at once.

Somehow it had become Bucky who could put him back together when he felt unhinged.

Maybe because he knew without it being spoken that he did the same thing for Bucky.

Bucky pulled his finger out, and Clint watched in the mirror as Bucky stuck it in his mouth and sucked on it to get it wetter. Clint’s dick was already pretty interested in the action, but it hardened even more in response. Bucky didn’t care that his finger had just been in Clint’s ass. Where most people would be hesitant, he probably didn’t even stop to think about it. The very idea made Clint even hornier.

While Bucky pushed his index finger back inside Clint’s hole, metal fingers slid down Clint’s stomach, and then trailed around to Clint’s back side, where his skin was exposed.

Bucky had agreed to touch Clint with the metal hand more, once he realized that Clint’s motivation was partly for Bucky’s own sake, but he claimed he didn’t like getting lube on it. Said it was hard to clean and he didn’t want to ask Stark for a solvent. Clint wondered if the same principle held with spit.

Bucky moved his real finger faster in and out of Clint’s ass, trying to get the tight ring of muscle used to the intrusion.

“Don’t take your time. Don’t go slow. Just get your dick wet and fuck me already.” Clint knew he was whining, but he didn’t care.

And anyway, it wasn’t like it mattered. Bucky didn’t listen. Because of course he didn’t.

Clint closed his eyes and leaned his head back in frustration, which only put his head against Bucky’s shoulder. But it was two fingers that breached Clint as Barnes’ lips brushed his neck.

Clint was burning up. He was antsy from the extended mission, and he felt like he was crawling out of his skin. He had needed Bucky’s hands on him, but it wasn’t enough, not yet. He needed Bucky’s dick in him. He just needed to feel something good, something all-consuming, something to take him out of his goddamn head.

He rutted back on Bucky’s fingers, trying in vain to make them bigger, deeper, and faster. Bucky being a tease usually got Clint going—not that he would ever admit that to Bucky—but he was too impatient, too strung out. So, he tried for flattery instead.

“Not that this doesn’t feel good, but that big cock of yours would feel a whole lot better.”

Bucky bit his shoulder. Clint groaned. He was about to threaten bodily harm when Bucky moved behind him. Clint watched in the mirror as Bucky spit into his hand and then reached down, the muscles of his right arm moving as he stroked his own cock.

Clint arched his back in anticipation. Finally, as the head of Bucky’s dick pushed against his hole, the itch that had been nagging him started to get some relief. Clint reached his arm back, seeking balance, as Bucky finally breached him. What he grabbed was Bucky’s metal forearm.

“Is this okay?”

“Fine, yeah. Hold onto me,” Bucky replied. There was a slight strain in his voice like he was holding back.

Clint didn’t whimper—he didn’t.

Bucky was slow to push in. He stopped once to spit into his hand again, re-coating his cock. There really wasn’t enough lubrication for the fast, hard, sloppy sex Clint was craving. But once Bucky’s dick was in him, pressing against him from the inside, he didn’t care.

“Yeah,” Clint breathed.

Bucky grunted in response, but Clint knew Bucky’s noises enough now to know that it meant something like, “Your tight ass feels better than a strawberry milkshake tastes.”

Bucky thrust forward slowly and circled his hips, grinding behind Clint like they were dancing in a club instead of fucking in an airplane bathroom. He’d heard Steve mention how Bucky used to go out dancing back in the ‘30s, which was weird to think about on so many levels, but it also had Clint looking up videos on Youtube of people doing the jitterbug and the foxtrot and picturing a dapper James Barnes in their midst.

Clint didn’t dance.

But feeling Bucky behind him made him think about filthy clubs and shitty house music. Bucky tended to avoid going out in public. He avoided crowded places especially. But Clint wondered if he could convince him to go out, just for a night, to let loose and forget about the Avengers and about being an assassin and just let go.

“What are you thinking about?” Bucky asked, bringing him back into the moment.

“Taking you out to a gay dance club,” Clint answered honestly.

Bucky let out a noise that sounded like a laugh. “Wait. You’re serious, aren’t you?”

“What can I say? Your hips don’t lie.”

“Huh?”

“It was a song, never mind,” Clint said. “It was just an idea. An excuse to grind on you in public.”

“You can grind on me now,” Bucky growled.

Clint’s stomach did another flip. That was the dirtiest thing Bucky had ever said when they were fucking. And Clint liked it—a lot.

Bucky bent his legs a little, getting lower as if they _were_ dancing. It was enough room that Clint could take better charge of their position and sit down on his cock. Once Bucky had finally bottomed out, he dug his metal fingers into Clint’s hip and reached around Clint’s waist with his flesh hand to help hold Clint up.

Clint chased a beat in his head and started fucking himself on Bucky’s dick. He couldn’t get a lot of leverage, but he was full and felt a lot less like he was going to fall apart. He circled his hips, grinding back against Bucky, whose right arm was wrapped around his waist. They were pressed close together, but Bucky seemed content to just let Clint ride him.

Clint went faster, his legs starting to strain at the awkward position, but he didn’t want to stop to take his pants all the way off. As much as he’d rather be spread out naked on his own bed with Bucky just taking him however he saw fit, he needed exactly this right now.

Then Clint felt the Bucky’s fingers tapping against his side like he was keeping the same beat Clint had been grinding to. The bastard. Bucky pressed his leg up between Clint’s, giving Clint even more to grind on.

“Your fucking thighs,” Clint muttered as he pushed back against Bucky even harder, reaching back to grab onto the back of Bucky’s thigh. “I was serious about the dancing.”

“Mmm,” Bucky hummed against Clint’s neck. Clint could have sworn he heard Bucky mutter a low “maybe” against his skin.

Then Bucky started moving. Clint watched in the bathroom’s mirror as they rocked their way into a rhythm. He pushed back and Bucky pushed forward. Clint wasn’t a voyeur by any means, and normally seeing himself would have made him uncomfortable, but in the mirror, he could focus on Bucky. He had thrown his head back, and Clint had the urge to spin around and lick his way up Bucky’s exposed throat.

Clint always noticed when Bucky would sometimes zone out, disappear from the present, probably going back to dark places that Clint didn’t really want to know anything about. He knew it wasn’t his responsibility. He wasn’t Bucky’s keeper, and Bucky would have rejected any offer of help. But it made Clint feel, well, good when he could keep Bucky in the moment. He wondered where Bucky’s mind was drifting now.

Bucky’s fingers slid across his abdomen, startling Clint by the movement. Clint groaned and watched in the mirror as Bucky’s hand kept moving down. Then Bucky’s eyes snapped open to meet Clint’s in the mirror. His pupils were blown. He didn’t look distant at all. He looked hungry. Clint could have sworn his heart skipped a beat.

Then Bucky’s fingertips trailed down Clint’s bare skin, stroking the inside of Clint’s thigh. Clint squirmed as Bucky cupped Clint’s balls. The gentle touch was infuriating, but before he could voice a complaint, Bucky squeezed just right and tugged on Clint’s scrotum with enough firm pressure to make Clint cry out.

Bucky could play Clint like a fiddle. And he knew it.

It took way too long before finally—finally—Bucky wrapped his hand around Clint’s dick, stroking it with a loose grip. It wasn’t enough to get Clint off, but when Clint started thrusting his hips forward, there was enough friction to take the edge off.

“Stay still,” Bucky whispered in his ear.

Clint groaned.

Bucky’s metal grip on Clint’s waist tightened. Clint brought his hand up again to grasp Bucky’s arm, mostly for balance, because he could tell by the husky tone of Bucky’s voice what was going to happen, what Bucky was going to do.

His prediction had been right, because Bucky started fucking him hard—really hard. It was all Clint could do to stay upright and hold on as Bucky pounded into him. His right hand was still holding Clint’s dick.

Bucky had stopped stroking. He was just making a fist around Clint’s cock, but his thrusts were so fast it had the same effect as if he were jerking him off. Bucky pounded Clint hard, propelling Clint’s cock through the circle of his hand. It felt so mind-numbingly good that Clint wanted it to last. For the first time in weeks he wasn’t thinking about mad scientists or weapons or targets. There was just him and Bucky and the heat that sparked between them.

The metal hand whirred as Bucky’s grip tightened on his waist. That sound always did him in, but it still surprised Clint when his orgasm started. The force of it hit him hard and, unable to hold it back, he was coming.

Bucky fucked him through it, not slowing down until Clint felt Bucky stutter and hold him even tighter as he came. Bucky pressed his face against the back of Clint’s neck, his hot breath tickling his skin as his heart rate slowed down and he slipped out of Clint’s ass.

Clint started giggling.

“What’s so funny, Barton?” Bucky said, his grip loosening just enough for Clint to turn around.

Clint put his hands on either side of Bucky’s neck, stroking with his thumbs.

“That was another position in your book, you know.”

“Hmm?”

“ _The Gay Kama Sutra_. I think they call this ‘two columns’.”

Bucky huffed. “So you’ve looked through it?”

“Dude, you left it on my coffee table. What was I supposed to do?”

“Read it.”

“Oh,” Clint said, then realizing what Bucky meant. “Oh.”

Bucky rolled his eyes before he tucked himself back into his pants and zipped up. Clint followed suit. He looked in the mirror. There wasn’t any way to describe his look other than “fucked,” but that was perfectly a-okay with Clint.

“Now get out,” Bucky said. “I have to piss.”

It was Clint’s turn to roll his eyes, but he left Bucky alone and whistled as he strolled up to the front of the plane.

“Better?” Nat asked drily.

“So much better,” he said, stretching his arms in the air and putting them behind his head with a smug grin.

“I know you and Buck are sleeping together,” Steve said, not taking his eyes off the controls. “But couldn’t you have waited until we landed?”

Clint almost fell over.

“To be fair, there’s not much sleeping involved,” Bucky said, joining them in the cockpit. “How’d you figure it out?”

“Same way I knew you were sleeping with Judy Baker back in ‘39. World’s most notorious assassin or not, discretion ain’t your strong suit.”

Bucky burst out laughing.

Clint couldn’t stop himself from joining in.

**Author's Note:**

> Follow me on [tumblr](http://http://tuesdaymidnight.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](http://twitter.com/tuesdaymidnight) so we can cry about Sebastian Stan together.


End file.
